


Silence

by letsriottogether



Series: Silence [1]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 11:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsriottogether/pseuds/letsriottogether
Summary: Saying goodbye to Ulana and Boris wasn't the end like all three of them thought. Because she's brutally stubborn as he was hoping for and Boris simply cannot let his new friend go. Valana fic.





	1. Leaving Chernobyl

Ulana and Boris stood side by side, watching entrance to a building where they knew Legasov was held. The black car in front of the building meant one thing for sure – they already heard. Of course. It was pathetic how everything took such a long time when it came to things that would actually do any good. But when it would intervene with the propaganda, all the needed people would get to their business before you could say ‘meltdown’.

Suddenly the door opened, Legasov emerging out with two men accompanying him. He walked casually, trying to act as if he was just being taken home, his eyes never leaving her and Boris. Charkov’s words were still ringing in his ears, seeping through his flesh and organs, poisoning the blood in his veins, before finally drowning his soul.

At first a wave of relief hit her, he was alive. In the back of her mind she realized she anticipated a different scenario of the KGB guards taking out Legasov’s limp dead body with a bullet between his eyes, however ridiculous that might be with the sun shining down on them. Yet still, this did not feel right. He walked slowly, almost casually to the car, his eyes never leaving Boris and Ulana, his features unreadable.

What has happened?

Ulana took a quick breath, ready to call out his name. Boris must have been reading her mind, as his firm grip caught her hand, keeping her still.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, his eyes never leaving Legasov, keeping the poker face. He already knew, it made its twisted sense that this would follow his statement at the court.

Valery stopped for a moment, lingering for a few quiet seconds at the car’s open backdoor, saying goodbye without words or gestures. They were given nothing more. And then he was gone.

Ulana turned to Boris, disbelief shining in her eyes. She wanted to believe this was going to be ok. Because he was Valery Legasov. Because he has saved so many lives. Because the world saw him in Vienna. Because they simply couldn’t lock him away like a puppet that was no longer needed, that broke the string from its master. Almost like a stubborn child, she refused to believe that this wouldn’t make a change in the way things were in Soviet Russia. They had to hear him out and accept his words, they simply had to…

“Will we ever see him again?” her voice broke down. Boris waited, silence embracing them both. Then he just let go of her arm and walked away.

Ulana looked up to the blue sky above her head, taking a deep breath, reality setting in. She felt this agonizing pain in her chest, that no amount of air in her lungs could take away, burning slowly through her just like the core did with the concrete pad in Chernobyl. How naïve she was to think that that was the only battle she would have to go through.

She was a lunatic. A scientist. And so was he.

And she had pushed him to tell the truth. To sacrifice himself and his whole life once again. To sacrifice them.

What is the cost of lies indeed? And what is the cost of a human life?


	2. Back to normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you for all your comments and a special one goes to SadLadPosts, who has offered her help in beta reading and correcting, I appreciate it a lot!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy the new chapter, feedback is always welcomed. :)

_Minsk, Belarussia_  
The past several days felt like a dream, no, more like a nightmare, something surrealistic that she was observing from distance, even though she was one of the main characters in the whole mess.  
She cannot really remember the way back from Chernobyl trial, she can still see the empty space where Valery was just a moment ago, she can hear Boris’ footsteps and suddenly she was in a car, looking out of the window with watery eyes at the deserted land surrounding them.  
Entering her apartment once again brought strange gust of normalness. As if nothing of the past 12 or something months existed. Same old walls, her things lying all around, smell of stale air, kind of the same after you return from a vacation. Except for the fact that she changed, she was looking at everything with different eyes, perceiving with her soul transformed into something else that was yet to be discovered. Something that she needed to learn how to control and to live with.

She drops her small suitcase on the ground in the hallway, not even taking her shoes off, she steps inside the small apartment, mindfully and slowly. Her gaze runs from one thing to another, looking around, making sure that this is really her apartment, she’s back, even checking the calendar that it’s not 1986 anymore.  
She stops at a bookshelf full of books, brochures, textbooks, her fingers absently running over the different covers, until they stop over one that’s particularly scuffed, a sign of endless times it has been taken out, held in her hands and read. Her guilty pleasure.  
She takes that one out, holding her breath, browsing until she finds the right page and gasps in surprise.

_Late fall 1986_  
Ulana laid sprawled on her sofa, glasses on, lazily going through Dimitir’s notes he had asked her to check. Her focus was still mainly on Chernobyl investigation, but every now and then when she got to Minsk to check on her apartment, get a new set of clothes, she would, of course, visit the institute and meet with Dimitri. He had his own sort of research and valued her opinion, and she was happy to share.  
Suddenly a squeak escapes her lips as she jerks her right foot closer to her body, her eyebrows flying high to her hairline in surprise both from the attack on the soft skin of her foot and the sound that echoed through the otherwise silent apartment.  
She flashed a death glare towards Valery, who was sitting at the other end of the sofa, whose eyes were, with a deep interest, focused on her feet resting in his lap. Well, she wanted to flash him a death glare, but the corners of her mouth gave her way, and she couldn’t help but smile. He turned his head to meet her gaze, a full smile on his lips, looking proud at the results of his experiment.  
“Reflex rating 10 out of 10,” he says in fake serious voice, mimicking lab workers at work.  
“You are bored, aren’t you, comrade Legasov,” she chastases him, putting Dimitir’s notebook down, her hand smoothing the fluffy fabric of blanket covering her body.  
“No no, finnish your job, I have an experiment of my own to finnish as well, you see, this is only the warm up,” he says, adjusting his glasses, the grin never fading from his face. Ulana groans, rolls her head back against the pillow and chuckles, as she rubs her tired eyes.  
“Why do I feel that this experiment of yours will pretty much ruin my attempts to edit the notes?” she raises her eyebrows and puts her foot back into his lap. “Why don’t you read something, I’ve got plenty of books here,” she says, gesturing with her head to the bookshelf behind them.  
He thinks for a moment and then stands up, his shadow moving with him around the walls of the living room that is lit with standing lamps, creating warm orange light. She pouts as soon as her feet slide down to the cushions of the sofa, missing his warmth and skilled hands, giving her a nice massage just before the vicious attack.  
Her attention turns back to the notes, lost in thought she is just vaguely aware of Valery moving around, examining her belongings. He mumbles several names of the textbooks he had back home as well, chuckling about the fact she kept almost the same pieces he did. And then his eyes fell down to a small brochure, or notebook. The curiosity rises within him. He looks over his shoulder at her, still deep in thought, that lovely wrinkle of hers going down her forehead between her brows. He smiles, and as quietly as possible, takes out the file, careful not to lose any sheet, as the conditions says it has been read many times.  
He opens it and to his surprise it’s not a diary (would she even keep one?), but a handwritten copies of various poems, some of which he recognizes from the school days, some completely new to him. He reads through them, sometimes the whole piece, sometimes he turns pages within a moment, lost in thought when one catches his eye.

**_Small railway station_ **  
_There are places, where the children still wave at passing trains_  
_We always feel a bit of sorrow_  
_Waiting at small railway stations_  
_As no one is there, nowhere to go_

_Suddenly our soul is of white edelflower  
Suddenly there’s too much human in us_

He stares at the words, the letters, consuming him to his surprise. He never was a poetry person, nor a book person after all (except for textbooks and encyclopedias of course), and suddenly he could picture the children of Pripyat, standing at the railway station-no- at the railway bridge, happily awaiting the train to go somewhere, anywhere. How many of them are still alive? How many of them will live to adulthood?  
He feels her eyes on him and makes himself lift his attention from the small book. He finds her resting against the sofa’s armrest, her head slightly tilted, resting on her hands, a soft smile on her lips, glasses gone.  
“Which one?” she whispers after a moment, hesitant to break the sacred silence of the intimate atmosphere that suddenly embraced the room.  
“The railway station,” he says and before he can continue, she chuckles and closes her eyes. Of course it’s that one.  
She turns her body, pushes the blanket away and stands up, slowly walking to him, until her body is pressed against him, her warmth spreading through him, as she lays her chin on his shoulder.  
“This is my favourite one as well,” her hand goes up to the poem, fingertips gently caressing the words, and then does the same to the skin of his hand. He takes a deep breath, looks down at her, and as much as her face shows how tired she must be, there’s that small, happy smile, with her eyes still fixed on her book. 

And in that very moment, it’s just the two of them, like any normal couple, with no exploding reactor cores, no radioactive particles, no mysteries to solve.

_Present:_  
Every now and then he would suddenly appear with that notebook in his hands, usually when they would lie in her bed or sofa after sex, and read her out loud. With Vienna and the trial, his visits stopped and she was usually the one to travel. With the tension among them, he never read her that poem again and she avoided it.  
Now, to her surprise, a single dried rose was resting as a bookmark to their poem.

_Next day, Belarusian Institute for nuclear energy:_  
Echo of her steps resonated through the empty corridor with dozens of closed door, leading to various labs and offices. She remembers how the rhythm of her shoes against the tiled floor used to sooth her, knowing exactly where her feet are taking her, how her day is going to go.  
And now? The building was the same, but people different. Already as she was passing through reception at the entrance, they stopped her right at the tourniquets, taking her aside to check her card, the old lady in thick glasses calling someone over the phone, whispering urgently.  
“Is there any problem? I’m the chief nuclear…,” she tried to explain, as the door of the small office shut right to her face. Before Ulana could even get angry, they opened again, the old lady in brown suit with polite smile holding her card. Silent, not a single word of explanation, but the glare in her eyes said everything. She’s not welcomed here.  
She knew that this was only the beginning, and mentally slapped herself for not expecting it sooner, being almost angry with herself for being unprepared. As she neared elevator, she could see a noisy group of her colleagues, not really her friends, but somewhat people she knew. They were chatting happily, waiting for the elevator door to open. Yuriy, a tall man in his forties notices her first, and nods his head to greet her. Suddenly the conversation dies out, as the others turn around to look at her, all curious and much to her surprise, scared. Is this how the animals at ZOO feel?

Bitter laugh escapes her lips as she turns on her heels and heads for the stairs. So much for going back to normal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is in original called „Malá nádraží“, written by Jan Skácel, a Czech poet. I’d like to believe as former Czechoslovakia used to be a part of SSSR, this poem might have actually been translated and available in rest of the Soviet Union.


	3. Chapter 3

Boris was sitting at his desk in Kremlin, carefully going through the documents that his secretary put there in the morning, just like always. It takes him now much longer now than it used to before. It’s not that he wasn’t interested, he was, but more or less trusted in the summary report at the end of every case that ended up in his hands. Report written by other party members under careful supervision And now? Since April 86’, Boris learned to read between the lines.  
His temper hasn’t changed though. Frustrated with the amount of the papers, feeling like it’s an endless void sucking him in, he rubs his tired eyes with his hand. He checks the clock hanging on the wall opposite his desk. Shortly after one. _He should be here soon._

Boris was a sane man, realizing that Valery sacrificed himself for the greater good. And making KGB angry was a one way ticket to hell for sure. He also very well understood what it meant, not only for Legasov, but for anyone who would like to break the curse that has been casted. And yet, he was his friend. His comrade. They saw each other at times of horrible despair, when deciding how many men will be sent to slow death. They shared their joys when things went well. Chernobyl brought them together, melted them together. And Boris was from old school. You don’t leave your friends behind.  
So already during the gruesome silent ride home to Moscow, he thought about someone who would be trustworthy enough and yet unrelated to him to check on Valery every now and then. He was lucky enough to find Igor, who should arrive in a few minutes.

Boris stands up and walks over to the window, blankly staring at the busy street outside. People rushing to god knows where, enjoying the sun peeking from underneath the clouds. It’s actually a very nice day, Moscow had several heat waves these past two weeks, and finally the weather has calmed down, changing into a typical August - bearably warm, with colder nights. He should go out of the city for his weekend, call his daughter and invite her and her family to the datcha they’ve had for years. With a sad smile he realizes he misses his grandson. It feels like there are more and more people that he is missing in his life.

Suddenly the door to his office open wide without a knock, causing him to turn around with a surprise. Igor wouldn’t arrive like this, his assistant Zoya would proceed normally as if with any other guest requesting to see him.  
“Boris, how are you doing this beautiful afternoon?” Charkov asks nonchalantly, heading to Scherbina with his arm outstretched, going for a handshake. Scherbina quickly puts on his jovial expression, the one that he mastered over the years while climbing up the party ladder.  
“Viktor, how nice to see you. How is your wife?” Before Boris can even gesture, Charkov already makes himself comfortable in one of the guest chairs in front of Boris’ table.  
“Very well, she sends her greetings to Iulia,” Charkov replies, smile never leaving his face, but beneath the glasses, you can see the change in his eyes. He’s here because of some business. Boris is standing, staring at him, until Charkov points at the chair, inviting him to sit down.  
“Please, go ahead. It’s still your office after all,” Boris notices the accent on the word still. Deep down he knew this visit was coming, even though he was trying to convince himself the KGB would be happy with simply bugging every corner of his office, home and car, and maybe having several agents at his back. And locking up Valery, of course. He exhales and sits down.

“You must be wondering why I’m here,”  
“No, I’ve figured this would happen at some point of time,”  
“Very well then. You do understand how shocking Professor’s testimony was to us.” Boris cannot help but chuckle. Charkov won’t even say Legasov’s name. So the complete wipe out of his existence has begun. “I wanted to check if he was showing any signs of.. Nervosity, science babbling. I cannot understand how a sane man, loyal man like him would be able to betray his country like that,” Charkov continues, one eyebrow raised, eyeing Boris curiously, waiting for some reaction, anything that would give Boris away.  
“We all have our moments, I think,”  
“Do we? Are you speaking from a personal experience, Boris?”  
“We got the job done. That’s the bottom line. And it changes you. If Valery decided at the very last moment or already in Vienna to say what he did, I cannot say.” Boris replies frankly, calling Legasov by his name on purpose, refusing to play the game. But Charkov doesn’t even flinch, of course.  
“I see,” Charkov nods and suddenly stands up, heading for the door.  
“I hope your dear friend in Minsk will be more communicative and knowledgeable, since she shared more than interest for science with the Professor.” Boris’ poker face betrays him for the slightest second when he realizes that Charkov is talking about Ulana. It’s too late to take it back, Charkov said in on purpose, to bring out some reaction out of Boris. He opens his mouth to say something, but Charkov silences him with simply raising his hand.  
“I just hope those two were the only ones to change, Boris Evdokimovich,” and with that, he is gone, but the fear he brought remains, crawling into every corner, slowly reaching Boris.

He waits for another 20 minutes. By then he is sure that Charkov with his agents is gone. Igor did not show up, meaning two things. Either he noticed KGB hanging around and was smart and quick enough to disappear. The other, much worse scenario would be that they caught him by surprise, no matter if here in Kremlin, or outside on the street.  
There’s no use in panicking or imagining scenarios. He needs to work with the facts. Charkov is curious about what happened at the court. Curious Charkov is a very dangerous Charkov. Igor did not show up. And Ulana is in Minsk, not knowing what’s coming for her.

Jesus fuck, if anything happens to her, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. There’s not much he can do for Valery right now, but this one thing - protecting Ulana, this is a promise he must keep.

_Minsk, Belarussia_  
Ulana managed to go through the first days without snapping at someone, but god knows how much inner strength it cost her. She was able to convince herself it’s not worth it, create some distance, and she could feel that the inner calmness she used to live in is spreading over her again. Dimitri hasn’t changed at all. She even hugged him and realized she missed his goofy smile and never ending questions, always playing it on the safe side.  
The strange thing was her colleagues’ behaviour. At first she thought for some stupid reason they were scared she still might be contaminated and dangerous to their health, but they were scientists for god’s sake. They avoided her in public places, she would always sit in the cafeteria either alone or with Dimitri, no one would ever join. She decided to stop this stupidity and ate her lunch up in her office, staring out of the same window which glass she wiped more than a year ago when the huge dosimeter went off. That’s also when her colleagues would show up. When she was alone in the office, in the lab, late at night with the Institute otherwise empty. They would appreciate her, or simply ask her how is she doing, that they are glad to see her. She didn’t understand and no one would ask her honestly what is going on. That Thursday evening it became all much clearer.

She was just finishing an experiment that ran a bit longer. She did not mind, she actually enjoyed doing things more slowly, carefully. No one was waiting at home for her, not even a pet. Sasha’s happy purring kitty face jumped to her mind, laid on Valery’s lap, as he’s stroking her thick fur. She felt her breath hitch in her throat at the memory of him. That was another reason to keep herself busy with work, so she wouldn’t think about him, wouldn’t think about his sacrifice, about the role she played in it. About the time they wasted before the trial. She wondered if he hated her now? No, let’s not go there, that would hurt even more.

She was all done, decontaminated and changed into her normal clothes, in her head going over and over the results, when suddenly the door to the hallway opens. Two men appear, completely overlookable, blank faces you would not remember within few seconds. KGB agents.  
Her heart starts beating fast, her hands turn into fists. Why here and why now? She’s not in Moscow in that horrible hospital, she is not threatening to talk about state matters. Prison sounds flood her mind, the weird stale smell, coldness. They step aside and she knows she must go and follow, there’s no point in running. Where would she hide, anyway?

They walk through various corridors, not hesitating for even a slightest moment. They know the place, they’ve been here before. But for whom? In her mind she goes over the names and faces of people she used to run into and suddenly they were gone.  
They arrive to a small conference room, Charkov sitting comfortably in one of the chairs, cigarette between his fingers. She remembers him, older man with silver hair, thick glasses, always treated respectfully with a silent hint of fear by the others, Boris included.  
“Comrade Khomyuk, my apologies for late hour. I hope you don’t mind,” he welcomes her with an insincere smile as if they were old acquaintances.  
“Comrade Charkov,” she nods her head and one of the agents pushes down on her shoulder, causing her to sit down.  
“I believe we haven’t talked properly up until now. I gave it a thought and I think it’s high time to change that,”  
“What do I owe the pleasure?” Her mind is running at the speed of light, adrenaline rushing through her veins. The muscles on her throat are clenching and she’s trying so hard not to pronounce every word through clenched teeth.  
“I do realize you and Professor had a special bond, just like any two scientists, right?” Charkov asks innocently.  
“Well, yes, science was definitely a topic that we shared,” Ulana answers, not sure what he’s going at.  
“I believe it wasn’t the only thing you shared, Ulyanochka?” he smiles as she flinches at the name Valery used to call her in their most intimate moments.  
“Comrade Charkov, I think this is highly impolite of you,” Her rage takes over, sharp tongue speaking way too fast for her mind to stop it.  
“We know, comrade, there’s no point in denying. We know it all, ever since the night in the hotel,” he stands up, smoothing the fabric of his trousers..  
“Then if you know everything, why are you here?” she bites down the shame and rage. It was their moment, their memory they both loved, the first steps they made to each other. She should have anticipated this, based on where they were at the moment. But knowing, hearing the truth that they indeed knew? That was something else.  
He chuckles at her, the passion in this woman is adorable. He understands why it was so easy for Legasov to fall for her. He puts his hands palms down on the table and leans over her, his breath smelling too much of coffee.  
“Because you know even more. You were with him, and let’s be honest, he was too scared to just go ahead and risk his life and reputation like that. He’s too much of a coward,”  
“Valery is anything but a coward!” she jumps to her feet in almost a fighting gesture, as Charkov backs away from her. Oh how he loved making people feel and show their emotions.  
“What role did you play in this? Be honest, comrade.” Ulana’s insides freeze, she takes a deep breath, trying to look calm, push all emotions aside. Valery did this for her and for Boris. He couldn’t save those hundreds and thousands of men working on liquidation, so he decided to save at least the two of them. She mustn’t throw that away.  
“None. I had no idea what he was going to do,” she finally answers, her voice emotion-free, convincing.  
He nods his head. This will take some time, but he will make her speak truth.  
“I must warn you, Khomyuk. This is not the answer I was looking for. But I am a patient man. And what is more important, a very powerful one. You will tell the truth, sooner or later. The only question is, how much do you want to suffer for it.” he stands up, his expression absent. He walks past her and for a moment she thinks he will lean in again. “Has he told you about his little promise to me, or there was no time during all the fucking and sweet talk? He’s responsible for you. So use that pretty scientist head of yours and think.” She looks up at him, hatred mirroring in her eyes. She despises this man so much. She straightens her back, head held high, as she turns her gaze away from him. He’s not worth to be looked at.  
“Just remember. I will come back, and ask again. But maybe not so nicely.” She only hears as the door close shut and her body betrays her. She starts shivering uncontrollably, before she smacks her fist hard against the wooden table. _Enough of this. Get a grip, Ulana Yuriyevna._

She doesn’t get any sleep at night, thoughts running through her head, keeping her awake. She would need to talk to Boris, but the phones will be bugged and it would be way too obvious for her to call him right after the KGB visit. She must think of something else. Showing up in Moscow is not a good idea either, she cannot leave Minsk now. She pushes aside the small voice telling her that when she gets to Moscow again, she will visit the street he lives in. Even if she would only see the windows to his apartment, she would do it. _No, don’t think about it, not now._

Charkov's words quickly made sense, falling into one huge complete puzzle along with the fact of her colleagues not talking to her in public. And after the weekly meeting regarding projects and updates, it became much clearer.  
After the head of the Institute, Professor Sinyak read out assignments, he nervously looked at her, as he did not read her name at all. Not even regarding the lousiest, least important projects they had. And he knew she will argue.  
To be honest, she wanted to, she wanted to scream, she wanted to fight. But at that moment she just thought this must be a very bad dream and that she will wake up, lying on her desk again with that small pillow pressed to her face. But she was wrong. All colleagues left the conference room, leaving her and Sinyak alone.  
“Why?” she asked, waking up from the haze that clouded her mind, anger slowly rising in her voice. “Can you tell me why, how is it possible, that there are no assignments for me? I’m your Chief scientist! You know I’m good, you know I get the job done! You know...!”  
“Comrade Khomyuk,” he growled frowning, knowing he must stop her right away, or the waterfalls of words won’t stop. When she halted at once, his expression softened, almost as if a father would be speaking to his stubborn daughter.  
“I know what you did. We all do. And we know we cannot thank you enough, to anyone who went there. But that’s not the point and you know it. We’ve been instructed and my hands are tied. I am at least able to keep you your position. For now,” he says apologetically.. Another bitter pill for her to swallow. She nods her head and pushes back the tears in her eyes. 

She won’t cry here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments and kudos, it means a lot to me. Any feedback is welcomed!  
> I'm sorry for the longer delay, it has been hell at work. I promise I'll be better.  
> Next chapter is more Valana, I swear ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just small something. I don't really like redoing the scenes from the TV show, as it feels like I might be seeing to much into what was going on in the screen, and most likely all of us have some preception of those scenes. But I kinda had to. I hope you will like this one. :)

  
He stirs in his sleep, turns from one side to another. Sasha is too annoyed, as she wants her peace for sleeping. She already gave up hours ago and went to the living room, most likely finding a comfortable spot on the sofa.  
That's the tricky thing with the human mind. You can keep it occupied during the day as much as you want, push all the unwanted thoughts away as you practiced god knows how many times. But when the night comes, when darkness swallows you and your stupid little barriers you built up to stay sane, you have to face the reality of your own thoughts.  
During the day, there were many things Valery Legasov had to deal with. The agents who did not even bother with hiding themselves, the loneliness, the loss of his name, of normal life, of any possible projects he could ever work on, of his friends and Boris, the loss of...

He forbade himself to speak her name out loud. But his mind and soul are against him, whispering it in quiet moments, bringing the memories back instead of dreams.

_Pripyat, Polissya hotel, 2.5. 1986_  
Boris’ words still echo through him, the realization hitting him hard, that even though they were sent here as the chosen ones to solve this mess, their government didn’t trust them anyway. He felt almost offended for a moment. He was here, here, in the middle of nowhere with bloody reactor melting down, without any chance to say no (he knew that right after Scherbina’s phone call that first day) and most likely with zero chance to make it out of here with higher life expectancy than 5 years.  
He’s standing at the edge of the stairs leading to the hotel they’re staying in. Hotel, that just a day ago was bursting with life, just like the city around him. He inhales the crisp spring air, it’s gotten a bit cooler after the sunset. He takes a look around and cannot help but feel almost in a weird dream. The street lamps are shining throughout the whole city, but all the windows in the houses are dark. Cars parked along the streets, at some places there is even laundry on the balconies, simply waiting for anyone to come, fold it and put it back into the wardrobe, where it belongs. Except that no one is ever coming back to these homes. There’s this weird heavy silence, only the wind is whispering in the trees. A chill runs down his spine, so he turns around and enters the hotel lobby.  
The carpet swallows every sound of his shoes as he walks further towards the reception. Now he misses the natural sound of the wind because inside, there’s nothing. Only sometimes buzzing of the lights. He passes big glass door and sees Ulana sitting at the empty bar, all by herself, deep in thought, scribbling something on the yellow napkins.  
He’s not entirely sure if it’s her or if it’s the urge not to be alone right now. It doesn’t matter, he strides with his long steps until he’s right at her, gingerly leaning against the bar. There’s a bottle of vodka and two glasses right in front of her, which surprises him. Has she been expecting him to come? 

He can feel her shift her attention from the scribbles underneath her hands to him, but he doesn’t dare to look her in the eyes, not just yet. She tilts her head down again, pen still in motion. He actually welcomes the possibility of a drink, so he takes one of the glasses and reaches for the bottle, as she gestures with an almost unnoticeable motion for him to go ahead, neither of them saying a word. It feels weird to call her ‘comrade Khomyuk’, and Ulana seems familiar. For some reason, he knows making this woman angry could be fatal, even more than looking into a reactor core.  
He pours himself one and notices for the first time that the glasses are bigger than the ones the waitress served him yesterday. Good. He pours himself one, puts the bottle back and turns his body to her, the smell of lilies attracting him much more than he would like to admit. Suddenly she has mercy and is the one to break the silence, never even bothering with his name. Maybe she was contemplating the same, just like him?

“You’ve seen that?” her voice is almost monotonous, pushing a piece of paper with all sorts of readings and numbers to him and focusing on her equations again.  
“The fuel is melting faster than we expected,” her voice softens and gives away her exhaustion.  
He doesn’t need to see the bloody paper again, he still has all the important numbers in front of his eyes, as he was reading it over and over again since he was handed this report. He turns his back to the white paper as if it would disappear if he would ignore it long enough. But that’s not how the world know. And science? With science, you can do all sorts of estimates and then the reality is different. In this case, much faster.  
“I know. I have a plan,” he replies glancing for a moment at her, leaning with his back against the bar. The half-empty glass lays casually in his hand, as if they were just a man and a woman in any normal bar, anywhere else in the world, chatting about things a man and a woman can chat about.  
“Heat exchanger, I hope,” He knows this unperturbed tone very well, as he’s using it with his students from time to time, awaiting their solution of the problem that is more than apparent. It irritates him as if she knew the solution all along and impatiently has been waiting for him to pick up the speed with her.

“Yes,” he says, stressing that one word maybe too much. But he cannot help it, this woman is driving him mad. Ever since she first stumbled into the room with Pikalov right back at her, out of his breath, there was something in her that kept him on his toes. She was there, in the back of his mind and he would find his mind curiously wandering to her throughout the day. She was smart, there was no doubt about it. And the way she acted, all sure and confident, it was impossible to dismiss her, and God knows what a shame it would be. She had a mouthful of what to say, it was apparent, and yet she did not waste words, going straight to the point. 

He glances over her shoulder, turning his body to her, the sweet light scent of lilies hitting his nostrils again. He doesn’t know it yet, but this smell has already burnt deep into his memory, connecting her presence with it. Yet now he forcefully pushes it aside, concentrating on the formulas and calculations she put together. Why the hell did she not get a notebook? Since when did people stop writing their names and phone numbers on napkins and switched to nuclear physics equations?  
One glance and she doesn’t fail the impression she built herself. Oh, she’s good. Already thinking ahead, asking the same question just like him. He feels almost proud, knowing he thinks in the same patterns as she does. A tiny smile appears for a moment on his lips

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, comrade, but I see you’re already asking yourself the same question,” his eyes wander back and forth from her face back to the napkins, until she puts her glasses down and finally looks at him. His heart skips a beat, he has no idea why. He’s just glad the vodka has finally started to kick in, as her blue eyes glue themselves to him.  
“Why did it explode?” He only nods in response, his gaze curiously exploring her face. The tired eyes that hide the hunger for truth, small wrinkles around her witty mouth (and he wonders what she looks like when she smiles), the dark auburn hair in contrast to her porcelain skin. With these looks, no wonder she’s so cold and hard. Their male colleagues must have been hard on her. She’s a beautiful woman now, he doesn’t even want to know how she looked a few years ago (and yet he knows this thought will occupy his mind in the upcoming days, in order to ease the stress of the task he’s here to do). And her smart brain to make the combination deadly.

“I’ve worked the numbers over and over, presuming the worst possible conditions in an RBMK reactor. And I always get the same answer,” Her eyes don’t leave this, not even for a single moment, as the air gets thicker around them. Not only she has a sharp tongue, these two orbs tell a story of their own.  
“Which is?” he whispers, already knowing the answer.  
“It’s not possible,”  
“And yet…” he shakes his head a bit, his mind going through the possible things that could have gone wrong that fateful night.  
“You’re not going to solve this here,” he says and the way she drops her gaze down, he can tell she’s holding her breath, suddenly looking up at him through her eyelashes, ready to fight him if he would want to send her away. He moves closer and her body responses on her own, shifting towards him immediately.  
“Not on paper,” she can feel herself relax again. He’s got more to say, but she already knows the most important thing - she’s part of this and he understands that, appreciates that and doesn’t intend to dismiss her help.  
“Everyone who was in the control room, Dyatlov, Akimov, Toptunov. They’re all in Moscow, Hospital Nr. 6,” he watches her closely as he speaks, seeing the spark in her eyes setting up a fire, a hunger for the chase to find out the truth. “We need to find out exactly what happened that night. Moment by moment, decision by decision,” and he knows she’s the only person who he can trust, who won’t miss a single hesitation of the personnel. And at the same time wonders how it happened that he trusted this woman so quickly without any doubt.  
“Go now, while they’re still alive, talk to them. Because if we don’t find out how this happened, it will happen again,” he gulps down the rest of his vodka, the acrid taste of alcohol spreading in his mouth. 

She’s deep in thought, already going through a list of questions she must not skip, of the clothes and protection she mustn’t forget (as if it would make any difference after being here). His voice is hoarse when he speaks again, turned into a whisper:  
“And Khomyuk… Be careful,” he says, remembering the whole conversation with Boris earlier. Because as much as Ulana is smart, he cannot help but feel there’s certain naivety in how this world, their world, works. He gives her one last glance and decides it is better to go to his room, the vodka seeping more and more through his system, while her eyes are burning to his soul. He needs her to find the truth, that’s correct, but he also cannot help but feel relieved that she won’t be here, that she might live a bit longer. One life that he might not waste away here, and there’s the small little feeling hiding inside of him, spreading warmth that it’s her life he gets to save. He decides it’s just the alcohol, for the sake of their situation. There’s no place for this, as much as he’d like to know how soft her hair would be under his touch.

He walks briskly to the elevator, suppressing the need to turn around and look at her one more time (what would he say, anyway?) and mutters a silent thank you when the elevator bell rings and the door open at once. When inside, he presses his forehead against the lining of the cabin. So much for his curiosity about Ulana Yuriyevna Khomyuk.

It’s well past midnight when he finally gives up on trying to fall asleep. For the last two hours, he was just restlessly rolling around in his bed, every now and then taking a gulp from the bottle of vodka he placed on his nightstand. It seemed like a good idea, or at least he hoped that the alcohol would cloud his mind enough to help him fall asleep. He sighs and rubs his face in frustration, finally giving up. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up in a swift motion. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table so he’s able to search for his pack of cigarettes, finding it completely empty. Great.  
He could talk himself down, wait for the morning and have a cigarette then when he picks up a new pack downstairs. But he simply needed one now. 

And it’s definitely not because the smell of cigarettes helps him get the scent of lilies, reminding him of her, out of his mind. Because it’s not working anyway.

He puts on his jacket, not even bothering to change out of his sleeping clothes. The light in the hallway is hurting his eyes, almost blinding him. He makes his way downstairs, determined to get himself a new fresh pack of cigarettes when he sees her. She’s no longer stooping over her notes, she’s just sitting there, with her back to the bar, looking into the distance. She doesn’t even notice the elevator ring. He’s taken aback, he did not expect anyone to be here at this hour, suddenly being aware of the clothes he’s wearing. His gaze fixates on her, she’s sitting straight, almost like in school, but there’s that elegance and greatness shining from her posture. Her right leg is swinging lightly in the air, the rest of her body staying still. He studies her face for a moment, her expression showing she’s lost deep in thought. He’s glad she didn’t notice him yet, as he still remembers the intense look in her blue eyes. He ponders for a moment if he should just go back to his room, but then something breaks in him. He needs to take the step outside of his comfortable bubble. Maybe this might be the first one.  
He makes his way over to the bar, just like a few hours ago. She notices him in the corner of her eye, a small smile spreading on her lips. Is this woman ever surprised? He reaches down on the counter, blindly searching before his fingers grasp the familiar box. He pops himself up on the barstool next to her, searching for lighter in his pocket before lighting a cigarette, staring at the sight of the empty city in front of them just like her.  
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice raspy. She chuckles and looks at her hands, joined in her lap.  
“Too many things happening, too many questions inside my hand. Too many things I’m going over and over in my head, reminding myself I mustn’t forget them,”  
“Such as?” he puffs out the blue cloud of cigarette smoke. He can feel that the atmosphere between them has changed. He doesn’t know whether it’s the lack of sleep, the late-night hour or something else. But now it’s so much easier just to talk to her, and he can say she feels the same.  
“Calling my colleagues that I have no idea when I’m coming back. What safety protection to bring to the hospital with me. What questions to ask the men from the control room. What to tell them if they ask how are the others doing,” she starts naming all the things whirling in her head, her voice trailing off, realising she could never be able to name all of it. She finally turns to him, eyeing him from head to toe.

“Do you always dress so fancy when going out, comrade?” she is amused and for the first time, he sees her smile properly, even though her question is confusing him.  
“You think I’m taking a walk outside?” he asks, one of his eyebrows shifting up.  
“I don’t know, I thought you would be the type,” she waves her hand in an indefinite gesture. She turns around, pouring both him and herself a shot, pushing the full glass to him.  
“You guessed right, but not tonight. Normally when I can’t sleep I do go out, enjoy the empty streets, observing the sleeping city… I’m sorry, I’m babbling, don’t mind me,” he quickly ends his sentence, gulping the rest of his vodka, surprised at how easily the words left his lips.  
“No, don’t apologize. It’s actually nice to have a conversation about something else than melting reactors for a moment, as ridiculous as it might seem,” she replies, finishing her glass as well. Blimey, she loves having around someone who can catch up with the thoughts that fly inside her brain at the speed of light. This fact has made the grim circumstances under they’ve met a bit less overwhelming. He would test her every now and then, just like she would do with him, pushing each other for better result. They’ve been doing that ever since the discussion about the bubble poolers. 

But now, she simply wanted to talk about life for a moment, not about the dangerous dance to prevent death. Her determination isn’t gone, oh no, but she realizes that if she wants to make it through this hell without going crazy, she will need to talk, to share, not to hold it back inside of her. And somehow she feels he might be able to understand much more than her words.  
Today when she visited the site of the blown-up reactor, she had a weak moment, not believing her own eyes. The readings of the result she performed from the dust on her lab’s window back in Minsk were terrifying, of course, but seeing the reactor building torn apart, black smoke coming out of it... Oh god, what have they done. She couldn’t help but notice Legasov watching her that whole time, reading the expression written all over her face. When she turned to look at him, she was expecting to see a sneer, but instead, his eyes were soft, full of understanding. In that very moment, she knew he felt the same when he arrived here. And seeing the same look mirroring in her face calmed him in a strange way.

He turns to her, takes the glass out of her hand, pouring them another shot. He decides to ignore the voice telling him it's not such a good idea, as his heart suddenly starts pounding loudly in his chest from the unexpected touch.  
“When I can’t sleep, I usually go to the lab and just work, do some experiments, or just clean the beakers. This means I spend at work much more nights than I’m normally willing to admit myself, not even mentioning what about my colleagues,” she chuckles, remembering Dimitri catching her sleeping on Saturday. She takes a sip, the alcohol burning in her throat. She can pretend her skin is burning because of the same reason and dismiss the ridiculous feeling in her stomach after he took her glass from her hands. And she thought that puberty was long gone.  
“Well, I’m sorry that there’s no lab here for you to hide in,” he smiles at her, eyes twinkling just a little. Is this how Valery Legasov is with women under regular circumstances or is it the vodka talking? Would he be like that if she met him someplace in Moscow?  
“It’s ok, I can make peace with whatever is offered,”  
“Even an empty hotel with few guarding soldiers, a grumpy party man and a scientist? Of course, the radiation is just a bonus,” he tries to joke but knows he failed miserably, only reminding them of the reason they’re here in the first place. But her reaction surprises him. She turns to him, places her hand over his wrist in a reassuring gesture, soft smile sprawled on her lips.  
“Even that. I like my silence, and if I need to break it, now I know to whom should I go to,” her hand lingers on his for a brief moment longer and he realizes he’s holding his breath. He shifts his gaze from her blue orbs down to where they’re touching and she briskly moves her hand away. It was a simple gesture, and yet it felt like so much more.  
She coughs a little, trying to find her voice again. “How is Moscow this time of year, anyway?”  
He welcomes the sudden change of topic, as it helps him to focus on something else, needn’t worry what would be his next steps, or if it was even appropriate. Change of subject, how clever, saving them both.  
“Typical spring. I would say it’s a bit warmer than here and a bit sunnier. I think you will love it,” he says, in his mind going back his past week in Moscow. Of course, he doesn’t spend much time outside. Usually, he’s in the institute, but he likes to observe and sometimes take a walk in the evening.  
“Any places I should visit?” she asks as if she was going there for a vacation, knowing that most of the time she will be locked up in the hospital, listening to the voices of dying man. But she simply needs to pretend, at least in this moment.  
“Khomyuk... Ulana… I was serious earlier in the evening,” he whispers urgently, suddenly frustrated and turns to face her. His forehead is wrinkled as he worriedly frowns at her. The use of her first name surprises her and gives her courage.  
“I’m not a child Valery, nor a naive person. I know I’m going there to collect as much information as possible about a thing that’s classified and that most likely there will be people who won’t want me to know,” she says, head held high, as if she was already defending herself to some KGB agent. Where does she take so much inner strength and determination from? He tilts his head backwards and exhales.  
“If anything should happen, anything, tell them you’re with me. Promise me that,” he keeps on insisting. There is a battle going on in her. It’s been a long time since someone acted so protectively over her she almost forgot how nice it can feel. But on the other hand, it was making her a bit irritated. She’s a grown-up woman for god’s sake, she’s been able to take care of herself up until now. But the look in Valery’s eyes shows how much this small promise means to him, so she decides to grant him this pleasure and nods.  
Silence falls upon them again, when a clock somewhere at the reception starts ringing, announcing the late hour.  
“I’m gonna go sleep now,” she says, sliding down the barstool and he follows her example. He grabs the napkins with her calculations and hands them to her. She smiles gratefully and puts them into a pocket of her sweater.

Once upstairs before they part ways to enter their rooms, he suddenly stops, walks over to her, leaning at her door frame.  
“Will you lend me that pen of yours and one of the napkins?” he asks. She stops and thinks for a moment, not sure where this is heading. Is he going to check her calculations now? He could do it tomorrow morning during breakfast. She really needs to get some sleep, but gives them to him anyway.  
He swiftly scribbles something down, napkin pressed up against the wall. And then she realizes - an address, his address. He turns back to her and returns her the napkin and pen.  
“Third floor. My neighbour on the same floor, Alina Markina has a spare key. Feel free to stay there if you’d like, I bet it might be more comfortable than a hotel. And hopefully, it won’t be bugged yet. My cat could also use some company,” he knows he’s rambling now, saying too much unnecessary information and forcefully stops himself. She looks curious, interested even, he was expecting her to be dismissive, to be honest. And his hand suddenly lives in its own, softly caressing her cheek. She’s staring at him, those magnificent blue eyes glued to his, her lips slightly parted.  
“Stay safe, Ulana,” he whispers and takes his hand back, his palm and fingers burning from where his skin met hers.  
And then just as suddenly as the moment appeared, it is gone just like the tension.  
“Thank you, Valery,” she smiles up at him and opens the door to her room, flashing him one last look before disappearing inside. A warm feeling starts spreading through his body, and this time it’s not the alcohol. It’s something much more simple yet complicated at the same time. It’s happiness.  
This time sleep finds him almost immediately.  
_“Goodnight, Ulana,”_

**Moscow, present**

He wakes with her name on his lips, and as if only the act of saying it out loud makes him realize she won't be able to hear him ever again.

Let her be safe, please.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s something tickling his face. Valery stirs in his sleep, frowning at the weird sensation. His hand rises to push the tickling thing away, only to realize it’s Sasha doing her morning routine. He grunts and opens his eyes to find a pair of light green ones, staring at him. He smiles for a brief moment, stroking Sasha’s soft fur. The lazy morning sun peaks through the closed curtains. As the cat jumps off of him to the floor, heading to kitchen, Valery lets himself to close his eyes for a few brief moments. Then the meowing begins and he knows that he indeed has to get up.  
His normal daily routine before he can return to the Kurchatov is quite simple. Get up, go to the bathroom, splash his face with cold water, brush teeth. Change into a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, give Sasha some leftovers from yesterday, go to near grocery shop for some basic food. It felt weird, knowing he’s being watched. The first three days he kept checking his window one or two times per hour, almost unable to go to sleep, his eyes glued to the blue car standing on the street. The KGB agents did not even try to hide at that point. His days are long, and he’s desperate to keep himself occupied. He’s re-reading his old books, going through old notes, picking up the theoretical problems he was solving before the bloody phone rang on 26 April 1986 and he heard Scherbina’s voice for the very first time. He still has two days before he can start working at the Institute. He’s not quite sure what to expect, but one thing is for sure - he’s definitely not going back to his office, most likely he will end up in some ridiculously small shared space with carefully handpicked colleagues who would eavesdrop on him and immediately share anything suspicious with the right people. Damn it, it wouldn’t even have to be suspicious, it would be good enough if it was anything that would help them move up the party ladder.

He’s sure that there are no more exciting projects for him and that he will most likely stay away from all labs and researches until the radiation decides to kill him. Buried deep within paperwork, for nothing, watching over his shoulder endlessly, alone, returning back into an empty apartment every day. Wouldn’t that bullet into his skull be better in the end, more merciful?

His eyes wander around the apartment that still looks the same, but for some reason the colors sound more blunt, faded. Maybe it’s because of the thick cigarette smoke? He knows he should try to quit, but hey, you have to die of something, right?  
Something other than radiation related disease.  
He used to be just fine living all alone, but then she waltzed into his life, so damn confident and sure of herself. Thank god to that, thank god she had the guts to fight him and make him see that the tanks are full, horrifying fact complicating everything. Her with those wise eyes, seeing through him. And that was only the beginning. He was a careful man, not letting anyone into his life simply because it didn’t feel comfortable, because books could not hurt you as much as people and also because they would not blame you for coming back home late at night. After the evening at the hotel when be basically offered her his apartment (not to mention almost kissing her), he knew there was no way avoiding this bullet. And with the same confidence there was suddenly the presence of her everywhere. In his home, in his mind, in his soul, nestling into every single atom of his existence. There were so many moments of sacred silence, when he would look at her, study the expression of her face, memorizing her curves, the way her hair framed her beautiful face when he would just want to stop the time, erase the past and rewrite the future. Sometimes it felt like she was the raging fire and he was a bottle of gasoline - a deadly combination. 

When the reading gets too boring and radio too annoying, he walks around his apartment. He tried walking outside, but the KGB agents were too noticeable, not even caring about staying hidden somewhere in the shadows of the big city. Inside the apartment he could at least pretend he was alone.  
And alone he was.  
Well, at least he thought so. When checking his mailbox he found small carefully folded piece of paper snuck into a small hole in his mailbox. He looked around, as if expecting to find someone who would give him some sort of explanation, but the hallway was empty. He nonchalantly put the paper into the pocket of his coat and went back home.  
Maybe it’s just KGB’s way of playing with his mind? To falsely lure him into a trap? That could be definitely possible. He walked the stairs up to his floor, not daring to unfold the message before being safely inside.  
Sasha happily greeted her human by waltzing around his legs. Over the years he got used to this habit of hers, being extra careful not to stumble over her. He put down the bag with a fresh loaf of bread and some other groceries. Usually he would put everything into its place right away, but now there was something more important.

After hanging his coat onto the hanger, he goes over to the windows facing the street, checking the KGB car. The agent is inside, reading a newspaper. Good.His palms are sweating as he opens the hand written message.  
“Your friend hasn’t forgotten you. Keep your head down for now. Belarussia is under supervision to improve the outcomes.”

Oh Boris, my dear Borja. Chernobyl might have stolen the peaceful and quiet days of his life, but granted him a friend instead in Boris. Valery just hopes that Boris is careful enough not to end up similar to him, or worse. Especially given to his health. The red blood marks on his handkerchief still frighten Valery, knowing there’s no escape to their fate.  
He knows Boris could be hardly the one to appear in his apartment building, meaning he has to have someone to do this for him. Of course, if this isn’t a trap. But Valery wants, needs to believe this is real, and the faint connection to the outside world, to the people he loves and cherishes pour some faith and joy to his veins.  
He re-reads the last sentence again. Ulana. He hopes that this sort of supervision that is mentioned is just Boris. Or did he write it like that on purpose not to scare him? He made it clear to Charkov, doing his best that she nor Boris had nothing to do with his testimony. Or did Charkov want to convince himself personally? He pushed that thought aside, not being able to bear that he wouldn’t be able to protect at least them.

He notices that the door of the car outside that never leaves his street open and a man gets out. He briskly moves to the sink, setting the small paper on fire with his lighter, washing the ashes down the drain with water. In a few minutes there’s a loud banging on his front door. Valery already knows their manners, but still cannot help but jump a little at the loud sound. Sasha jumps down from her spot on the sofa, annoyed and angry at the harsh awakening. She eyes the room curiously, partly hidden behind a ficus.   
Valery walks to the hallway, opening the door. The agent doesn’t even bother to clean his shoes on the mat, and bursts inside as if it was his home. He stops at the door to the kitchen, sniffing.  
“Hope you’re not trying to set yourself on fire, Professor.” the man says, frowning at Valery. He realizes that the smell of burning paper must be lingering in the air and chuckles nervously.   
“The cat jumped into my lap when I was lighting a cigarette.” he replies, pointing at the hiding cat.. Only her muzzle is showing, and she starts to hiss at the unwanted guest in her territory. The agent is clearly disgusted with the animal and turns back to Valery.   
“Tomorrow at 8 you will pick up your new badge at the reception of Kurchatov. They cannot wait, Proffesor.” he scoffs, looking around the apartment for one last time, before storming out again.

Valery lets out the breath he realizes he has been holding. That could have been interesting. He’s actually looking forward to have a daily job again, silently praying it will help him stay sane. Because already now he’s over his head looking forward to the next message from his companion. He has to get inventive enough to be able to respond to him, maybe even ask some questions? How is Boris doing? Is Ulana ok? Does she miss him as much as he misses her? Has she forgiven him?

That night he has troubles falling asleep, too many scenarios playing over in his mind. He tries walking around the apartment, sorting his notes, his books. His mind is restless. He went for a brisk walk earlier in the evening, suddenly desperate for the fresh air outside, not caring if the whole Kremlin is following right behind him. He was just around the corner of his favourite park when he noticed a lady. late thirties maybe. Quite tall, dark brown hair in soft curls, graceful but confident step. She turned around a man was running up to her to catch up with her. That’s when the air left his lungs, fleeing at the speed of light. He could have sworn he moved back in time, ten years ago to the streets of Minsk, as the woman looked so much like Ulana in one of her earlier pictures he found in her flat. His heart started beating fast, his senses flooded with her scent, the taste of her lips, her laugh ringing in his ear. He started to run after them, realizing how stupid and pathetic he is. Well, so much for staying on the rational and calm side.  
That’s when he decided it’s high time to go back home.He still cannot shake the memory out of his mind, silently cursing himself that he didn’t secretly steal at least one of her pictures. He wanted to, he truly did, but he just thought there will be more time, that he doesn’t need one, cowardly hiding behind security reasons (because blaming everything at KGB was so easy sometimes).

The need to be near her, to feel her fills his senses as he returns back to the bedroom. He collapses across the mattresses, his back hitting a weird bump. His hand slides there, searching for the source when in the gap in the middle he feels creased fabric. He pulls it out, sitting up. A smile lights up his face. It’s her shirt he stole from her, that got pushed between the mattresses and was forgotten short after. Ulana’s faint scent still lingers on the fabric and he feels like some pathetic teenager, who is hiding from his parents in his room, replaying the memory of his girlfriend, suddenly all tense and aroused. No one ever warned him that this is what his fifties would be looking like. His mind wanders back to the last time she wore that. Well, before she took it off.

Valery’s aparment, Moscow, late 1986  
The soapy scent spreads from bathroom to the rest of the apartment. Ulana’s just taken a bath, allowing her sore muscles to relax in the hot water. She forgot her nightgown in her bag in the living room, so she decides to put and old shit she found after drying herself. The mirror is covered in fog due to the humidity in the small room. She takes a bath like this as an unnecessary luxury she would be able to spare herself of, but Valery has been too pushy to drop her practical self and try to enjoy the things they have while they still have them. She wipes the mirror with her palm, staring at her reflection. A small doubtful voice resonates through her head. And for how long are they going to have each other?

She studies the wrinkles on her face, her tired eyes, silver hair shining from her auburn color every now and then. It’s not just age that’s written all over her body, but it’s easier to pretend. At least with herself. But when she looks at him in the bad times, her thoughts fly to all the books and articles about radiation exposure. She finds herself studying him, calming herself no, this is normal, but this, is this already…?  
She shakes her head, frustrated with herself. Not now, not tonight.  
When she steps outside and appears in the living room, he’s sitting in his armchair, glasses on the very top of his nose, reading some book. He doesn’t notice her, and she smiles.Her steps are quiet, and almost like a cat she sneaks up to him and suddenly tears the book from his hands. Valery looks up at her with mixture of surprise and outrage. But when his eyes wander over her, his expression changes to a sly smile. She chuckles at him, places the now closed book on the shelf and takes his hand into hers. With the other one she slowly starts to unbutton her shirt. Her smile fades away, she bites down on her lip. She shakes her shoulders to push the fabric down. He lets go of her hand, helping her to get rid of the stupid piece of clothing. For some reason he doesn’t let it fall to the ground, instead he grabs it, taking Ulana by her hand, leading her to the bedroom.   
Let’s forget for now who they are.  
Soon after his finger follows the curve of her spine, touching the soft creamy skin of her back, so soft and warm, so inviting to be caressed and kissed. His lips follow shortly after, placing open mouthed pecks. When reaching her lower back, he decides to change things a bit, using his tongue instead. She shivers in surprise and pleasure, soft moan escapes her lips.  
He straightens his back, looking down at her. She’s simply beautiful from any possible angle you could think of. And right now, on all four, trembling with anticipation, skin slightly glistening with sweat, her brown hair messy.. That’s simply sight for gods, and right now it belongs to him, she belongs to him and he feels like on top of the world, because this precious woman loves him and trusts him. It’s as simple as that.  
He strokes her cheek with his palm, sliding down to her thigh and then back up. She parts her legs a bit more, back arching up, silent gesture to urge him where she wants him the most. It’s the sound of his name on her lips, an urgent moan full of passion, and he simply cannot hold himself any longer. His grip on her hips gets tighter as he slams into her in one swift motion. She’s so perfectly wet he could cry. World starts spinning and it’s so tempting just to come in that very moment, her walls clenching around him in sweet pleasure. She grips on the crumpled sheets, eyes closed. All the gossips were right, this was much better than the normal missionary position. She could feel him everywhere, filling her to the top, then leaving her completely, making her feel so empty out of sudden just to slide back into her. Sex sounds fill the silence of the room, how his hips meet hers, skin on skin, their uncoordinated moans and whispers. So this is what good sex feels like?  
He keeps one of his hands on her hip, following her small motions as she meets him in his thrusts, while the other one wanders up her back to the nape of her neck, tickling her hair. She knows what he wants to do, but maybe is too worried she wouldn’t like it and asking questions in the middle of sex seems just too ridiculous. Instead she just tilts her head backwards in a simple gesture and he just knows it’s a green light from her. Within a second his fingers comb through her hair, before clasping them, tugging gently just to cause a small pleasurable amount of pain. Breath hitches in her throat, as the shockwaves start to flow through her body, she collapses on her arms. He has to adjust himself, bending over her back. His hips move a bit higher and suddenly he’s hitting the perfect spot. Her muscles grip him even tighter and it’s too much for him. She whimpers loudly, not interested if anyone hears them. He swifts his leg, putting it foot down to get better angle, to be able to slam into her even harder and faster as he comes undone. Any barriers that would hold him back are gone, pure animal pleasure taking over him, over them both. That’s all it takes for her, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s her voice that fills the room, shouting his name. His breath is heavy on her back, as he tenses for the last time, filling her to the top. Her hair is sticking to her forehead and cheeks, smell of sex and sweat in the air.   
He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing her up to him, still deep inside of her. She finds the last piece of strength in her, as she sits up with him. He lays his forehead against her shoulder for a moment placing soft kiss. She turns her head around a bit to be able to see him and smiles. He looks up at her, his eyes meeting hers, the corners of his mouth up in a grin. Suddenly her arm moves up, bending in the elbow to be able to reach him and caress his hair. None of them speaks, enjoying the intimate silence. It’s their moment where nothing else exists apart the two of them and the bed they are sitting on.

He shifts up a bit, cupping her round breast, thumb encircling her sensitive nipple. He loves finding her favourite spots, burning them deep into his memory alongside with her expression, her eyes rolled back and gently biting on her lip. He decides to continue with his experiment, the other hand sliding down to where they are still joined, mix of her wetness and his seed sliding down both of their thighs. He flicks her clit one or two times, his hips bucking on their own as she clenches aroundt his softening cock. He then lets her go, deciding not to torture her anymore and also painfully realizing that he will need some time to go another round. She understands and just collapses into the covers, exhausted and content.

“Can you imagine what it would be like if we met 20 years ago?” she chuckles and turns her head to face him as he lies down next to her, propped on his elbow.  
“I think our scientist careers would be in real danger, because I wouldn’t be able to let you out of the bed,” he smiles and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  
“Then it’s good we’ve met only now. It would be hard to choose between all the good sex and my job.” she jokes, but they both know it’s hint to an actual problem they would have been facing. It’s hard to imagine how the two of them would be able to work out when they were younger. Both too eager and dedicated to their job, making all the sacrifices to keep moving forward. But would you be able to sacrifice a relationship with someone who is possibly your soulmate to the job you love and that you feel is your vocation and vice versa? She quickly shakes the thought away from her head.  
“Scherbina says that ever since our visits started to be regular,I don’t seem as grim,” he suddenly blurts out and Ulana gapes at him. He shakes his shoulders apologetically.   
“What, that’s a good thing.” he grins and she kisses him on the jaw.  
“Please just tell me that Boris is the only one with whom you talk about this. Not only it would be dangerous, but I wouldn’t be able to talk to Tarakanov or Pikalov again, knowing you’ve been discussing our sex life,” she says, covering her eyes with her palm in desparation.He laughs out loud and starts kissing her, making a path from her belly to her neck.“Nah, they would be jealous and would want me to share,” he mumbles in between and Ulana looks at him, horrified. He laughs again at her expression and finally kisses her on the lips. 

They both get more comfortable on the bed as Valery places a big cover on both of them, making sure Ulana’s back is all covered. He outstretches an arm towards her, she already knows this small habit of his and lifts her head so he could sneak his arm underneath. He needed to keep her close. She needed to be in his arms.They lie in silence, staring at each other. She counts the wrinkles on his face, memorizing them all over again. With every new one she makes a silent prayer before she closes her eyes and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the longer gap between chapters. The past week and a half has been much more hectic than I anticipated. Hope this little something will be enough as an apology.   
> Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!  
> And thank you all for the kudos and kind comments, it means a lot to me :)


	6. Chapter 6

Fall in Minsk was rainy and cold, just like any other year. Those few days of Indian summer in September Ulana spent in her lab, trying to keep her busy. The KGB visits were almost a part of her day to day routine. Either they would go through her apartment, or turn her lab and office upside down. That made her the least favorite person to work with, of course. She actually didn’t feel like an scientist anymore, as her job consisted more of the ridiculous paperwork. She knew what they were doing, they were trying to take all the good things from her life.  
What she hated the most were the physical checks. A woman with hard features and a ponytail would appear every now and then, and Ulana would feel so bloody ashamed. What the hell was the point of this all?

What surprised her though was that she made it to the list of people invited to a conference in Moscow. The program details were fairly vague, as if no one really wanted to say in advance. She was excited and also worried up until the last moment that someone would just walk up to her and say: “Oh hey, we changed our mind, you’re not going.”  
Her heart was skipping a beat knowing she would be in the same city like Valery, knowing exactly the path to his place. She could sneak out at some point and go there, just see it on her own eyes, and maybe if she was lucky enough, she could catch a glimpse of him. _Maybe._

The ride to Moscow was long and she managed to sleep most of the time. Dimitri was chatting with other colleagues, she was happy he would be going as well. The hotel was quite nice and comfy, conference much less interesting. Right before one of the lunch breaks Ulana needed to pee so badly she sneaked out of the lecture hall. When she was making her way back, a strange man stopped her. She stopped dead in tracks, worried it’s another KGB agent to take her for some interrogation again. But this one was different, there was something friendly about him.  
“An old friend wants to talk to you,” he simply said.  
“Boris?”   
All it took him was to nod and Ulana would follow him anywhere.

They stopped in front of an old block of flats outside the city centre. The streets were dirty, pavement and road with many holes, definitely a district that wasn’t much prioritized. They walked up to a third floor and an elderly woman opened door for them, smiling warmly at Ulana. She reminded her of her grandma, with the dimples in her cheeks, chubby body and red scarf tied over her hair. They led her to the living room, where she could hear familiar coughing sounds. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she indeed saw Boris sitting there. The man and the woman just nodded at him and left the room, leaving them alone.

They sat at the table in an odd silence at first, both eyeing each other with hesitation. They were both happy to see each other, alive and well within their limits, even though they were never exactly friends. It was Valery who brought them together, who was able to somehow filter and calm their endless arguments. Now they were alone, with no intermediary who could calm Ulana’s passionate mind and Boris quick temper. Luckily they were both too tired and focused on more important things than bringing up old scars. Last winter she was so mad with him after their meeting in the abandoned school in Pripyat, not only with him, with Valery too, that they both stayed away. And it was for a very good reason indeed.  
Boris stirred his teaspoon in the cup, coughing a bit, covering his mouth with an old handkerchief right away. Ulana couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dried blood stains from it.  
“How much time?” she asked, her voice flat. There was no point in being emotional and he was thankful for it.  
“Two years? Maybe three? Hell I would prefer one if it would mean quick and painless death, not being a walking corpse like I am,” he says, hiding the handkerchief into the pocket.  
“I’m sorry.” It’s plain and simple, and he knows she _is sorry_. In some ways Ulana was like him. Somehow too straight forward, but in a more delicate and elegant way. In another lifetime, they might have fought over her, he chuckles to himself.  
She looked at him and he was almost amused in how many things were written all over her face, and how much she was trying to compose herself.   
“Go ahead. Talk,” he chuckled and took a sip on his coffee. It was surprisingly good and strong. 

She slightly nodded to herself, composing her thoughts before speaking out loud.  
“You know already that I’m not at playing around. My life has been living hell since Valery.. Since the trial. For more reasons than one. I’m done. If we have only few years to live, I want to spend them with him.” she finally says determinedly, her head held high. He cannot blame Valery for falling for her.  
“You know it won’t be just like that, without a price,” he says as a matter of fact.  
“I know. And I have nothing to lose. I cannot work in the lab anymore, I have the bloody KGB agents checking me every other day. I’m done. I have nothing to lose, only gain.” she stops for a moment, looking at the hands in her lap, smiling sadly. “I know he denied that I was pressing him to tell the truth to protect me, to give me freedom. And I was trying to tell myself that I have to go on. But I don’t want to. Not without him,” she says and looks up to his eyes. Are those tears he can see? It takes him aback for a moment. _Valery, you dog. She loves you._  
He takes a moment to reply. She has to know this. She has to know everything he knows before she can make a final decision, not to mention the things KGB might want in return.  
“I will be honest, Ulana.” she freezes at the use of her first name. He shifts in his seat, leaning closer to her. “I got report from his last visit at the hospital. It’s cancer,” he finally manages to say, compassion and sadness in his gaze. Her eyes are glistening with tears. She anticipated this, she kept on over and over, trying to figure out what dose they all got when being there. It was what she did to keep herself busy, doing calculations on the possibility of their death or getting incurable diseases. But hearing it’s true, that not only Boris but also Valery are in the same club?  
“I have to be with him.” her voice is hard as she’s trying so hard for it not to tremble with the unshed tears.  
“You don’t understand, soon a lot of care will be needed as the cancer gets worse...”  
“I don’t care. I have to be with him,”  
“Ulana, for god’s sake, and then you will be alone, sacrificing everything!”  
“I DON’T CARE!” she shouts, slamming her fist onto the table. They are both surprised at the sound, staying silent for a moment. She takes a few breaths, her lips parting and then closing again as she’s looking for the right words to say, even though lately she feels there aren’t any words in any language that could express her feelings and thoughts.  
“I don’t care. Even if I would have one month with him, I will do it. Watch over him, be that someone he can be mad at when he feels horrible, when the pain is bad. Talk with him when insomnia hits. Hold his hand. Be there so he.. so we both aren’t so bloody alone,” she whispers and shakes her head, brushing a few tears away with her sleeve. She then looks up at Boris again. “Do you know when I had a goodnight’s sleep last time? When I was visiting him in Moscow. I hate him for making me used to sleeping next to him,” they both chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

She then does something unthinkable, as she puts her hand over his that’s resting on the edge of the table and squeezes it tightly for a brief moment.  
“Thank you, Boris Evdokimovich. For watching over him and for being honest with me,”

Ulana walks up and down a street of the foreign city full of people, all rushing somewhere. It’s cold and a soft wind is blowing, as she snuggles deeper into her coat. Tomorrow is her last day in Moscow before she has to return back to Minsk with the rest of her colleagues. She has to be lucky, this must be done today. She looks over to the grey building the the several marble steps leading up to its entrance. She’s been hypnotizing this place for second day in a row, going slowly crazy. What will she do if her plan doesn’t work out? Will she just stay in Moscow? She knows she won’t call Boris, not to even ask for some details, knowing he would be too clever and would put two and two together, trying to stop her from signing an agreement with a devil. 

Suddenly a black luxurious car catches her attention and she knows it’s time. She quickens her steps, almost running just in time to run into two KGB agents guarding the passenger of the car who’s just stepping outside to the cold weather.  
“Comrade Khomyuk?!” he yelps in surprise.  
“I want to jon Legasov,” she says simply. No greeting, no small talk. This is why she came here and she’s tired of wasting her time, the time she could be with Valery. She smiles on the inside, noticing that she took the big guy Charkov by surprise. _Good. I don't want to be your doll anymore._  
Charkov chuckles and gestures with his hand for the agents to step away from him. However he doesn’t forget to send angry glares toward his agents. How the hell didn’t they keep an eye on her, knowing she left Minsk?  
“Comrade Khomyuk. This is a very bold request indeed. We are in the middle of the street, which is not a good place to have such conversation. What about you join me tomorrow for lunch?” he suggests, already walking away.  
“We will talk now,” she insists, almost shouting the last word. People are turning around, but she doesn’t flinch, her gaze glued to Charkov. I have nothing to lose, only to gain.  
Charkov’s expression hardens as he waves with his arm toward the door, saying nothing else. She quickly joins him, keeping up with his pace.

She’s not quite sure what the purpose of the house is, as she steps inside. A residence? One of the party’s seats? The staff is definitely surprised at her presence, raised eyebrows and questioning glances at one another, as angry Charkov moves to one of the big doors. He opens them at once and she steps inside. Before an assistant has a chance to ask what Mr. Charkov would like to drink, he just slams the door shut, huffing angrily at Ulana, who has already sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window to the backyard.  
“Comrade Khomyuk, I thought we established you know where your place is. And it’s definitely not in Moscow, making a scene on public display,” he shouts the last part, rushing over to her. Maybe a month ago, she would cringe, her heart would beat furiously. But not now. She made her peace.  
“You see, comrade Charkov, I would try other ways, but I needed it to be… Impressive,” she says.  
“Don’t play with fire, Khomyuk.” he growls and sits down opposite to her, studying her closely. He needs to calm down, to clear his head to be able to analyze her steps before she even thinks of them.  
“I’m here because of one thing only,” she exhales and smoothens the fabric of her skirt. “I’m done with your game. I want to be with Legasov.”  
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s more of a smug as he clicks his tongue.  
“I don’t know what game do you mean,” he says simply.  
“Stop it, Charkov. Let’s be honest for once,” she says, her expression hard.  
“See, Khomyuk. If you obeyed the rules, you and Legasov. Playing hero doesn’t pay out, I guess you finally understand,” he replies simply, playing with his thumbs, being all nonchalant.  
“I’m done with your rules. Let me go to Legasov,” she insists, leaning closer to him, anger slowly molding her features.  
“Or what? You will scream? You will complain? You’re forgetting who’s in the better position here, Khomyuk,” he laughs out loud, standing up. Before she has a chance to speak he raises his hand to stop her, walking around the room.  
“Your lives are mine, your deaths are mine to control. Your minds can go as free as they want, but to what use if no one will listen to you?” he asks, looking at her.  
“You will go back to Minsk, live your miserable life there, and Legasov will be here, slowly dying from cancer. And if you ever dare to come to me like this, you will get one way ticket to labour camp to Siberia,” he says coldly and she knows he means it. But she’s too far away from being stopped. She promised herself, promised to him in her mind to finish what she started and she knows there won’t be any other chance.  
“Tell me what I have to do,” she says and he blinks in surprise. She’s offering herself, fighting, not giving up. Interesting. Where did he see it the last time?  
 _I need her._  
Oh professor, you found yourself a soulmate, haven’t you? He could swear the determination in her eyes is shining just as brightly as his back then. Well, if that’s what you need, I will take it and use it as I find useful.

He stops for a moment, rubs his chin, pretending to think. Her mind is working so fast it almost hurts, and she’s trying to keep her heart calm. What price will it be? What conditions will he name? _Does it even matter?_  
He comes over to her, close enough to make her tilt her head back a bit to be able to look up at him properly.  
“You will be officially announced as a thread to the state. Your name wiped out from the academic circles. Your institute will be ashamed to ever work with you, rewriting all of your success to your colleagues. You will publically announce that Legasov was delirious and that the accident was indeed caused by human error, apologizing for your work, admitting you changed the results on purpose. You will say, that the Soviet people have nothing to worry about. And then,” he leans over, his face close to hers, “then you will disappear,” he whispers.  
She blinks away, trying to swallow the things he said. He’s good and she hates him for it. He knows what she wants, that being with Valery is the last bright thing left in her life that would make her keep holding on, that she loves him. And he knows how much she loves truth, that her moral standards don’t allow her to back down from anything else but the truth. She made Valery fight for it as well, sending him to isolation. And now? All of their work and efforts turned into nothing by her proclamation of the state version.  
 _Can I do that? Will he forgive me? Will I be able to forgive myself?_

“It’s a limited offer, Khomyuk. Speak up or go home and never return,” he says, sitting down into his chair, leaning back lazily. “I might to remember to send you a memo when he finally dies,” he says absolutely without emotions and something breaks in Ulana.

How can she alone fight them? How can she alone scream into the world what is the truth if the world doesn’t want to see and hear? She did her part, she kept her notes, and she’s sure as hell Valery is doing the same. There are so many things she cannot change. Maybe in another time, in another country, she would make a difference and they would be listening to what she had to say. But right here, right now, truth is not a welcomed companion. And one thing she can change is that he won’t be alone. That they will be reunited again.  
“I take it,”  
“I just hope he will be happy to take you in after the last time you met in Moscow.”  
She swears she could punch the smug off of his face.

She doesn’t remember the way back to her hotel. She’s horrified at what she has done, but also feel a strange calmness. Oh god, she doesn’t even make sense anymore. On some level it feels good, she feels this strange freedom in her heart, she’s letting go of all the bad things, of the surprise midnight checks at her apartment, of the loneliness, of constant worry how he’s doing. On the other hand, she’s making a step into total darkness.  
She laughs hysterically at the memory of Charkov’s last remark. How ridiculous would it be if she would appear at his step and he would just throw her out? Deep down inside she hopes he wouldn’t do it and her imagination can already feel his arms pressing her to him in a tight embrace, smelling the faint smell of cigarettes that never leaves him. The same she remembers when she was at his apartment for the last time.

**Flashback to Ulana’s visit after Vienna trial**  
Her heart pounds loudly in her ears, blood rushing through her veins. She already knew how the testimony went, Boris called her as soon as the information leaked within the party itself. Not that he would say exactly, of course. But the years spent in service to the state made him a brilliant inventor of codes to talk even with the phones bugged.  
With bitter laugh she wondered how the hell did they get to this position in the first place. It used to be so easy being around each other, but for some time now awkward silence would creep out of nowhere, separating them. There were moments when they would be together, not as often as she would like, skin on skin, and yet she could feel as if they were connected by the tips of their fingers, arms desperately outstretched, trying to cover the abyss that was between them. She almost felt like she has no right to be here, standing at his door. She tried to swallow the bitter pill that he did not even bother to call her to say he’s back and alive. _He doesn’t want to see me or he’s just too scared I’ll ask questions?_

Ulana couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. She knew, she understood his reasons. We’re all human after all, with our fears and flaws, with our own little game in this world. But he had a chance to make a difference, to tell the world, to stop this stupid play pretend. He was the chosen one, he was the voice of all soviet scientists, of all the innocent people. One hesitation, one word and the West would not have it, they would chase the Highest Soviet until the needed changes in all RBMK reactors were done. But instead of taking the leap, he bent his head down obediently.

To hell with our lives.

She was overwhelmed with all these emotions and thoughts along with weird confusing combination of envy and shame. Envy for she had to remain in the background, not to be seen or heard simply because she was a woman, that her and her family didn’t climb high enough within the party’s circles. How many times she could see in the eyes of men the disdain, derision. Some even used to dare to advise her to go back to kitchen. When she was younger, she was shamelessly able to slap them, showing her rage, her passion, that she’s not just some doll, some maid who waits at home. She wanted, needed to show the world that her place is anywhere she wants it to be.

With Valery, it was different. She could see the hesitation also in his eyes for a brief moment, when she stormed into the empty banquet room of the Polissya hotel, some of it remaining in his face expression through her first words. And then it was all gone, all prejudice and he saw her, heard her words and took them seriously. She did not want to admit it back then, but something moved within her in that very moment. He showed her so many times when they were together, with his understanding silence, with the small gestures. The way he talked to her. Even in his touch. And because all of this, because she knew he accepted her and considered her equal, she felt ashamed, as she could not rise above her bitterness from degradation of previous years.  
 _But why did he go with the lies?_

She raises her hand and with a moment of hesitation knocks on the door, maybe too loudly.  
Silence follows and she almost thinks he’s not home, when the door suddenly open. She means to say something, to greet him, but the empty look in his eyes stops her. He steps aside, and with a gesture invites her in. The last time she was here was not even a month ago. After such awkwardness she decided to stay away and he did not complain. Their relationship took a big hit after he admitted he knew about the Volkov paper back in that bloody abandoned school in Pripyat.  
Nothing has changed here since then, still the old bachelor place with books everywhere, air mixed with cigarette smoke and something else, scent she has connected only with him.  
They sit down at a table in the living room, and she can feel annoyance rising in her veins. So this is how it’s going to be?  
“Did you take a train?’ he finally asks, nonchalantly, as if she was on holiday visit. She can’t help herself, bitter chuckle escapes her lips as her eyes roll. _I’m happy to see you, too, Valery._  
“Yes, I took a train, now let’s talk about Vienna,” the annoyance visible in her tone, she knows she has to try something else. “I’m not here to scold you. I know how the world works, despite what Scherbina says,” she tries with a softer tone, hoping he will stop acting like a stranger.  
His expression changes somehow into an amused one. He can see right through her. She did not come all the way from Minsk to Moscow just for a friendly chat or quick fuck. Nor to make things better between them.  
“So… Why are you here?” Even as tired as he looks, his eyes are burning through her, and she can help but scream inside, wanting him just to be Valera again.   
“Because I’m brutally stubborn. Which you were hoping for,” her voice trembles imperceptibly, as she remembers his own words. How many times has he whispered to her skin that he adores her the way she is and that she mustn’t never change?  
These two stupid sentences say everything and nothing at all. She can see something is happening inside of him, he contemplates whether he should let the facade fall or not. And something inside of him pushes the thought far, far away. He’s not sure which part of him it was. The one raised in Soviet union, the Valery Legasov who did all the things he did, as horrible as they were? He sticks to the good apparatchik boy, repeating the lies once more, convincing himself more than her. Part of him wants her to let it go, the other one is provoking her, hoping for her abrupt reaction.  
Except there is nothing abrupt about her words. She’s calm, but he can feel the storm raging inside. All her words make sense, he cannot help but feel happy she hasn’t changed, that in moments like this when he doubts everything, she remains unchanged.

And then she says something so her, but under these circumstances so dangerous, that all the alarms start ringing in his head.  
“At the trial, you’re going to tell the truth,” There, this is why she came. She leans forward, for a moment he thinks she will grab his hand. He turns to the possibility of mocking her, hoping it will somehow make her silent. He knows his arguments mean nothing, that this isn’t about the jury. This is about the whole courtroom listening, as he breaks the perfect Soviet facade apart. He lets her talk, listening to the waterfall of words (as if she was saying something he didn’t already know), waves of her passion washing over him and he realizes that even though she says all the right words, he remains obstinate, Volkov’s fate crossing his mind, fear and bitterness taking over his body. Ulana, oh Ulana, are you really that naive?  
He tries one last time, patiently explaining fate of his old friend and cannot help but notice that it did not move her at all. And then she says his name, and for a moment he thinks there are tears in her eyes.  
 _Because you’re Valery Legasov_  
What the hell does she see in him, what did he do to deserve this? He’s running out of patience, why is she pretending that he’s any more important than any of their colleagues? Why is she putting the fate in his hands?  
He feels the hurt in her next words, he knows how much she would like to be appreciated for all the work she has done. And he knows she did a lot, that there’s an undoubted part of her in all the solutions, but what about him? Hasn’t he done enough, sacrificed enough? She’s gambling his life for god’s sake, gambling any time they might have together.

In that very moment he knows he has no other chance than to say the true reason. She pushed him too far.  
“They will shoot me, Khomyuk,” she flinches at the use of her surname and he knows he might have gotten too far, but so has she.  
And suddenly, her face hardens, he swears he can see the flames in her eyes, moving through her body. He pushed her to the edge of the abyss as well, both falling now.  
The landing won’t be pretty.

“They didn’t hesitate, they didn’t waver. They simply did what had to be done,”  
Every word that leaves her lips is sharp, almost spitted out, razing like a blade. He knows she’s blaming him, talking about all the things the poor people of Pripyat have gone through, sacrificed. How dare she? Who is she to talk to him like that, to attack his own consciousness? He is freaking going to die, maybe even sooner than in five years as he expected. No one back then had asked him if he wants to be a part of this circus or not, he also did what had to be done.  
“So have I. I went willingly to an open reactor,” he pauses for a moment, trying so hard not to start screaming at her, hating her in that very moment, hating himself for saying another lie. Willingly? What chance did he have with Gorbachov at his back?   
“So I’ve already given my life. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, I’m sorry, but it’s not,” her face changes, softens. There she is, sitting in the middle of Moscow with a man who helped to save millions of lives, but with his silence, endangering them all over again. A man she thought was her soulmate. She understood his reasons, all so much human, but wasn’t it him who said that they were scientists? So how come he’s suddenly backing down, pretending he’s done his part? She feels as if he’s betraying her, leaving her alone again. She cannot have it, for all the reasons that were there the whole time. And suddenly a new realization hits her hard.

She feels alone again. 

All along ever since that night in Polissya hotel when she wanted so much to kiss him, when he offered her to stay at his place while being in Moscow… A warm feeling of companionship was taking over her without noticing it. Then the first kiss came, first night together, the talk he gave her when he picked her up at Lyubyanka. She felt they shared a deep connection, two souls different from others in this world finally having found each other to walk through this horrible world together. And now the feeling was gone. Was it all just a lie? 

She stands up, fast, her head spinning. She needs to leave, this turned into something completely else and she needs some space to think, to push all ridiculous emotions aside, worried she might say something else that she would regret later. She still hopes their relationship is salvageable.  
She turns around, grabs her coat from the chair and when her foot moves one step to the door, to get the hell out of here, he grabs her by the hand, almost painfully, stopping her dead in tracks. She’s bewildered, taken aback by the unexpected move. Her gaze slips down to the place he’s touching her skin, it’s burning, her instincts screaming at her to jerk her hand away.  
“You are the most annoying and possessed woman I’ve ever met,” he whispers, eyes hard, raging as all the barriers come undone. She breathes heavily, his grip on her growing tighter. And with a blink of an eye he’s near her, pulling her to him, one hand wrapped around her waist, the second one slips into her hair, his lips descending on hers. She’s in shock, for a split second she ponders whether she should push him away, before the warm feeling spreads from her chest to her whole body. She lets her coat fall down from her arm down to the floor, her left hand sneaks up on his chest, right travels around his neck.  
“Don’t leave,” he whispers to her soft skin as his mouth moves to plant kisses on her neck.  
She shares his desperation, his longing for touch, trying to push all the unpleasant feelings aside. Maybe if she pretends hard enough, it will all be ok for at least a moment. 

Later she lies in his bed, his arms encircled around her waist. He’s snoring softly and she actually is relieved he’s asleep, that they don’t have to talk. She’s not sure what she would say, worried that her emotions would get the best of her. Her vision gets blurred with tears. This wasn’t supposed to get so complicated.   
She moves her body, turning around to him. He looks so innocent, as if he was just a normal man in his fifties, sleeping peacefully, waking up into a normal uncomplicated life. She leans down and fights the need to hide in his embrace forever.  
“I love you,” she whispers, her voice thick with tears as she fights a sob. When did she become so soft?  
His hand suddenly wanders to her back as he opens his eyes, being only half asleep. She’s both surprised and ashamed that he caught her in her weak moment.  
“I love you too, Ulana.” His voice is hoarse but honest. He means it, he means all of this. He just hopes that the truth won’t tear them apart completely.   
A few more tears slide down her cheeks as she leans into him, holding him tight. In a moment he’s asleep again.  
 _I just hope he will know the right thing from wrong._

When the lamps outside flicker, bringing light to the dark streets, he wakes up alone, unbearable silence both in the apartment and in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is my first Chernobyl fanfic. Please note that English isn't my native language, so apologies in advance in case of any mistakes or weird phrases. (Anyone willing to beta my works?)  
> This first chapter is rather short, some sort of prequel I would say. More chapters are to come. :)
> 
> Feedback is highly appreciated!


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